Dark Zone

65

The Eiffel Tower stood a short block from the Seine River, its legs spread over a large concrete and stone plaza. On the other side of the tower sat a long park called the Champ de Mars. The French had blocked off the side streets around the park with concrete barriers. Two large dump trucks had been placed on the street behind the tower, closing it off. Another truck and some wooden barricades had been placed on the river side of the tower. Hidden from view were two military vehicles with antitank weapons aimed at the approaches. Dean had his doubts that the weapons could be brought to bear in time, but it was obvious that the French hadn’t completely dismissed the Americans’ warning, contrary to what the Art Room had told him.

Despite the extra security, the tower was open for business. A long line snaked out from the chute in front of the north pillar as tourists waited to buy their tickets and then take the double-decker elevator up to the first or second observation deck. Once they reached the second level, or etage, as the French called it, they could board a smaller elevator and ride to the top.

“How do you think these guys manage to sell miniature towers for one euro when they’re three in the souvenir shop over there?” asked Lia.

“They don’t have the same overhead,” Dean told her.

Lia frowned and turned to look across the road. “Big bus could jump this barrier pretty easily,” she said, putting her hand on the metal rail that separated the tower platform from the road. “Go right through this pipe.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t stand there then.”

“You won’t save me if something goes wrong?” she said sarcastically.

Dean frowned. He wasn’t sure if her sarcasm was a good or bad sign.

“They have enough gendarmes here,” added Lia, referring to the military policemen, who were dressed in battle gear and carried automatic rifles. “You’d think they’d be able to do something about the souvenir sellers.”

“The guys on the bikes are the ones who look after them,” said Dean. There were two policemen who used mountain bikes to chase after the sellers when they got particularly obnoxious, but their efforts seemed halfhearted at best; the souvenir sellers would retreat, sometimes all the way across the river, only to return a few minutes later.

“Some security,” grumbled Lia.

“You want them to close the tower?”

“If they’re serious, yes.”

“Life just can’t come to a stop.”

“You’re either serious or you’re not,” said Lia.

“Maybe we should go up,” suggested Dean. “Play tourist.”

“Why?”

“I’d like to see what it’s like,” said Dean.

“Be my guest.”

Before he could answer her, Rockman’s voice echoed in his ear. “Charlie, Mr. Rubens has something he needs you to do right away. Find a taxi and we’ll tell you what’s going on while you’re en route.”